Chapter Fourteen

A/N: Thank you to JKR for letting me play in the Potterverse, and thank you to Shellsnapeluver for her faithful betaing of this story. This chapter owes a great deal to Sampdoria, whose comment on an earlier chapter inspired it, and to my husband, who listened patiently as I coaxed it into being.

When the mark burned, Snape had known that it was not an interrogation he was being summoned for. There had been pain, yes, the flash of something foreign and evil in his skin, but it had been undercut by a tingle--a tingle of pleasure that promised something very different. He disliked answering this particular type of summons, but he felt that, having displeased the Dark Lord so recently, it would be wise to capitulate. Therefore, he hastened to his chambers and chose his attire carefully: his best dress robes, in a rich forest green, hidden by his Death Eater cloak, and, of course, the mask, which he transfigured and stored in the pocket of his cloak. He quickly penned a note to Dumbledore explaining his whereabouts and froze, considering whether or not he should contact Miss Granger.

There was a part of him that wished to test their newfound bond. If he told her where he was going, would he find her waiting in his chambers when he returned? Would he be able to take the comfort and strength she offered if he could force her to prove, once again, that she cared? He hesitated with his wand raised. He knew he would not be tortured, at least not in the manner to which he was accustomed. It would be wrong to worry her, particularly when he had no idea when he might return. These sorts of gatherings often lasted all night. Yet, he seemed to be unable to help himself.

Summoned, he sent and set out for the Apparition point.

He was vaguely disappointed when there was no reply, though he knew that she was likely in the same room full of people where he'd left her hours before. He checked the ring once more before leaving, though there had been no telling burn, donned the mask, and Apparated.

He arrived in a room of startling scale. The ceilings seemed inches from the heavens, and the heavy stone walls were cloaked in massive, intricately embroidered tapestries. Soft sconce light flickered from every wall, and the room was saturated with noise and scent. He could smell roasted fowl, cinnamon, simmering vegetables, and the heady scent of rich, red wine. Strains of music permeated the air, though he could not see the band through the throng of witches and wizards that filled the room.

Narcissa Malfoy, resplendent in a deep sapphire gown, approached him instantly. She looked better than he had seen her in some time, certainly much better than she had appeared during their meeting at Spinner's End. Her hair was bright and shining, and her skin luminous. However, there was something in her face that made him suspect that serious charm work had gone in to her appearance that day. Her eyes looked heavy and shuttered, as if she'd recently had troubling news.

"Severus, darling. So glad you could make it. Please, let me take your cloak."

So, he was in Malfoy Manor, as he had suspected. "Narcissa," he said as he handed her the garment. "You look splendid, as usual. Tell me, to what do we owe your gracious hospitality?"

She blushed prettily. It never ceased to amaze him the way that the purebloods clung to the old ways, the old manners, in the face of everything. Her husband sat imprisoned in Azkaban, her teenaged son shackled with a duty much too large even for a full grown wizard, and yet Narcissa Malfoy flirted with him in her ballroom. He had grudging respect for her courage.

"It seems Draco has had a breakthrough," she said. "I'm sure you've had a hand in it, Severus. I'll always be in your debt."

"Nonsense," he replied. "Draco has been a credit to his family. Self-sufficient, resourceful.... I'm pleased to hear that the plan is drawing to completion."

"I'm sure. Your teaching days are numbered, are they not? Will you take up the Headmaster's position?"

"I will do as the Dark Lord requests."

"Of course, my dear. Do have something to eat," she said as a house-elf passed, bearing hors d'oeuvres.

He took a glazed fig topped with mascarpone and wrapped in prosciutto. "Fascinating," he said, inspecting the item dubiously before he ate it. "And delicious. Though I'd expect nothing less."

She gave him a modest smile before slipping her arm through his. "You'll want to pay your respects, of course," she said and led him through the crowd.

The Dark Lord sat in an oversized chair, perhaps more properly termed a throne, at the far end of the ballroom. Inwardly, Snape smirked at the wizard's pomp and pageantry, but he had to admit that there was something regal in the atmosphere of the room. As he and Narcissa passed, the other Death Eaters respectfully stepped aside to make room for them. He felt the heavy brocaded silk of his robes sweeping the stone floor as he walked, and Narcissa's gown fluttered gently with her movements. He knew they must look striking, for he saw jealousy in the faces of some of the guests, both male and female. There was something gratifying in the reverence in which the other Death Eaters held him. Oh, he knew there were some, like Bellatrix, who still suspected him, but they were allowed to make no show of it here. Here, he was Severus Snape, trusted spy of the Dark Lord. Here, he had surpassed the respect that money could buy, ascending above Lucius Malfoy--even in his own home, with the man's wife on his arm--to the right hand of Lord Voldemort himself. It was so different from the gatherings of the Light, in which, he was relegated to the back of the room, ignored. When dinners were served, he was always the last to be invited to eat. No one greeted him, nor stepped aside to let him pass. He slunk when he attended Order meetings. There was no other word for it. But here--here, he strode.

Snape fell to his knees before the Dark Lord.

"Severus. I'm so pleased you could attend."

"As am I, my Lord. There has been a flap at the castle. The Weasley boy has been poisoned. All are occupied with him, so I was able to slip away unnoticed."

"Poisoned, you said?"

"Indeed, my Lord. I suspect an... accident. But let us not dwell upon that now. This is a time for celebration! Narcissa tells me that we've received good news."

"Ah, but surely you already knew of Draco's success. Now that he has the cabinet in place, we wait only for Dumbledore's absence. Your information on his whereabouts and customs was most helpful. Draco has secured a common barmaid to alert us when the Headmaster has left the castle."

"Excellent, my Lord," Snape said. Cabinet?

"Quite. And now, Severus, it seems the witches have lined up to dance with you. I trust you will not disappoint them."

"Whatever pleases my Lord," Snape said, turning and bowing to Narcissa who still stood to his right. He extended his hand, and she placed her dainty one in it, consenting to be led to the dance floor.

"Bellatrix is ashamed of the way she treated you this summer," Narcissa said as he led her in a slow waltz.

"Tell her to think nothing of it. I never do," he replied.

"She will be most relieved to hear that, Severus. Perhaps if you danced with her, it would ease her mind?"

"Certainly. To dance with both of the Black sisters in one evening..." he said. "You'll spoil me, Narcissa. How is Lucius?"

He was not sure if he had imagined it, but she seemed to stiffen briefly at his words. "He is as well as one can be in Azkaban."

"I apologize, my dear. I don't mean to cause you distress."

"No, Severus, you were quite right to ask after him, and I will be sure to pass on your good wishes. It's just... I don't wish to think about Lucius today," she said, and once again, he was unsure if he was imagining things, or if Narcissa Malfoy had just tucked herself more firmly into his arms.

As they danced, Snape looked at the women around him, remembering them as they had been at seventeen, most of them newly graduated from Hogwarts: young, wealthy, sophisticated, ambitious. Bellatrix Black with her fall of shining black hair and her arrogant laugh; Maia Selwynn, who had been bookish and sullen in school but blossomed into a kind of austere radiance after she'd joined the Death Eaters; Delphine Rosier nee Prewett, who had danced so beautifully; Marigold Parkinson, whose long-lashed eyes and deep pocketbook had inspired the men around her to ever more ridiculous feats.

It had seemed, then, that money must create beauty, for there was never a ball that was not filled with delicate, privileged, silken-clad women, each of them seemingly more lovely than the last. He looked from face to face. He could have had any one he'd wanted; he'd needed only to say the word, so powerful he was, already, when he had joined. But he'd had eyes for no one but Lily. Somehow, despite the startling, garish red of her hair and her cheap Muggle clothes, she had made the rest of them look like painted harlots.

The song came to a close, and Snape released a rather reluctant Narcissa from his arms. Bellatrix stepped into view, and he approached her, once again extending his hand.

"Bella," he said warmly.

"Severus."

"Would you care to dance?"

"Why, thank you. It would be a pleasure." And she did seem a bit contrite.

As Bellatrix stepped into his arms, he was struck by how thin she was. There was, even yet, a kind of frantic energy about her, a grace that was born into her blood, but her cheekbones protruded startlingly and her hair... It caused him actual pain to look on it. So clearly, he remembered her hair. It had been like ink tinged silk. Now, it was shot through with wiry white and clearly charmed into a shadow of its former sleek beauty. Bellatrix was only eight years his senior, but the years had taken their toll on her. Though he supposed they had on him, as well. Azkaban was written all over her face.

Back in the early days, there had been rumours that paired him with this witch or that. Bella herself had been one of his supposed paramours before she married Rodolphus. It had been laughable, really. Snape hadn't had the slightest shred of interest in any of them. What he craved could not be found in this room, now or then. All he'd ever desired, from his earliest memory, was to be wanted. Not to be desired, nor needed, though he supposed those things would be pleasant if they followed, but simply to be wanted. Simply to have someone choose him, over and over, for no better reason than that he was himself. The women in this room did not know how to judge a man by anything but his blood, his status, or his account at Gringotts. They were well-bred witches of a very particular kind. Love matches were not made here, but alliances.

He'd come to Voldemort like an open wound when Lily had married Potter. Up until the day of their marriage, he'd still believed he could bring her around. They'd had so much history together, and to him, it seemed so clear that she could provide what he needed most. What did Lily Evans care if he was poor, if he was ugly, if he was half-blooded? Lily had known him since he'd been an awkward, bumbling child in his mismatched Muggle clothes. If anyone could have seen beyond his flaws, it would have had to have been Lily, with her brave Gryffindor heart and the way she seemed to bring out what was truly fine in a person. But to have chosen Potter. Even thinking of the man brought a nasty taste to his mouth. He had never understood what it was that had made the prat so alluring to her. He saw no bravery, no honesty, no warmth. None of the things that he saw in Lily. When he thought of Potter, he saw a rich and spoiled brat, blessed from birth with good looks, gold and athleticism. Potter had never worked at school, never held a job; he had no flair for anything but pranks and Quidditch. He was just like the witches Snape danced with this evening: decorative and ultimately insubstantial. He'd thought Lily worth so much more than that. Frankly, he'd thought himself worth more than that.

So, he had come to Voldemort at last, prepared to succeed beyond anyone's wildest dreams, prepared to show her exactly what she had given up. With his intellect and the Dark Lord's power, what could be denied him?

"Severus," Bella said, startling him from his reverie. "You've hardly said a word to me."

"Forgive me, Bella," he purred. "I was simply remembering the old days. I confess you are a vision this evening."

She laughed her cold, tinkling laugh. "Ah, but those days are gone, old friend. It is time to embrace the new. Peregrine has been watching you all evening. Why do you waste your time dancing with Cissy and me? We're just old matrons now." Peregrine Lestrange, Bellatix's neice was, in fact, gazing on him with an appreciative eye. She was nineteen and recently graduated from Durmstrang.

"She is lovely, I admit, but nothing compared to you."

"You old flatterer, Sevy," she said. The song ended. "Do come and talk to Rodolphus. He's been just itching to consult with you about a potion, but we can hardly pop by Hogwarts, now, can we?"

Snape allowed himself to be led over to a knot of wizards who stood about with easy grace, sipping Firewhisky from Lucius Malfoy's etched crystal tumblers. One would never imagine, looking at them, that they were members of a dark and sinister society, ruled by fear. It was hard to picture any one of them, so well dressed and mannered, writhing under the Cruciatus or naked and begging, trying to escape that foul whip. "Avery, Gibbon, Lestrange," he said.

"Snape!" Avery exclaimed, squeezing his arm in welcome. "Just the man we were hoping to see. You've been missed, friend."

"Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to see you. I'm afraid my assignment gives me little time for visiting. However, I think of you often. I, too, have missed our little... excursions."

Rodolphus chuckled nastily. "I'm sure you do, shut up in that castle all year. How is old Dumbly?"

"From what I hear, if he is well, he shall not long be," Snape answered.

The four men laughed together as Bellatrix drifted off into the company of Narcissa, Peregrine and Marigold. Peregrine, in her youth, stood out like a hothouse flower.

Yes, he had come to seize a bride and what fortune there was to be had. He looked appraisingly over the wizards, ostensibly his friends, around him. Of the thee of them, only Lestrange had been wealthy before joining the Dark Lord. His plan had not been an outlandish one. And yet, he had found himself unable to commit to anyone. There had been dalliances, but nothing that ever satisfied him in a way that made him want to make the situation permanent. He had waited. But for what?

For what? Was it possible that he was still waiting, still hoping that there was more to life than fear? For no one in this room truly liked him, truly wanted him. They simply admired his power and feared his wrath. Beneath the beautiful surface, this was no different from an Order meeting, and if they could have, they would have shunned him. Suddenly, it seemed quite clear to him that he could cross the room, ask Peregrine to dance, court her, ally himself to the strongest family of purebloods in the current wizarding world, and rise even higher in the Dark Lord's ranks. He could continue in his plan to aid Malfoy and secure himself a home like this one. He could even make cuckolds of the men around him, and they would be powerless to retaliate. He could have all this and more. The chance had not yet passed him by.

Gibbon guffawed, and Snape was forced, momentarily, to take part in a discussion of Dumbledore's sexual preferences.

"He likes the little ones, doesn't he, Snape? Tell us the truth, old boy. Does the Headmaster assign extra lessons to the first-year girls?"

"Rather the first-year boys," he replied, squashing the look of distaste that threatened to overtake his features. What a disgusting conversation. The men around him exploded with laughter.

"The first-year boys!" Avery wheezed, nearly clutching his sides in his mirth. "Oh, Snape, you're just the same. Remember when we used to--"

But Snape had no interest in Avery's recollections, as Peregrine was coming toward him.

"Master Snape," she said.

"Please, my dear, you must call me Severus, or I shall feel a very old man, indeed."

"Severus, then," she said graciously. "I don't flatter myself that you'll remember me, but--"

"Not remember Peregrine Lestrange? That would be like forgetting the sunlight. How are you this evening?"

"Well, sir. And you?"

"Quite well, now that I am talking to you."

She blushed and looked away. "Would you like to dance, Miss Lestrange?"

"Oh, do call me Peregrine, Severus. And that would be lovely."

He swept her onto the floor in a swirl of her pale green robes and was suddenly reminded of a very different young witch in green whom he had recently led onto a dance floor.

"So you teach at Hogwarts," she was saying.

"I do. A humble occupation."

"Far from it! I've just graduated from Durmstrang. I have the utmost respect for teachers. How... powerful, to shape young minds."

"Though I am sure you excelled in all you undertook, my dear, I assure you that the average student has no wish to be shaped, as you say."

She laughed appreciatively. "Perhaps not. But I am given to understand that you are a very talented Potions master."

"You flatter me, my dear. I simply enjoy the art."

"Ah, handsome and modest, too."

Inwardly, he flinched. Lies, all of it. Had she said 'accomplished,' or 'powerful,' or even, 'striking,' he might have been willing to continue the charade for another dance. But this girl had not a whit of sense about her. What sort of fool did she take him for? He had no interest in female blandishments. Nor, to be honest, any interest in young Peregrine Lestrange, or in a house like this, or in serving any master for the rest of his pitiable existence. What would he do with such a life? Snivelling for a living... coming home to a woman with whom he had to be polite? He could not imagine why anyone would want such a thing. If he were honest, what he truly wanted was to get back to Hogwarts and to find Miss Granger waiting for him in his chambers, to wash the stench of expensive perfumes from his skin and breathe in the pure smell of her hair.

"Severus? I do hope I haven't offended you."

"How could I be offended by praise from such a lovely girl as yourself," he said, relieved to note that the music was ending.

"Would you see me back to my father's house?" she inquired. "I'm afraid the champagne has given me a headache, and I'm loath to travel alone during these uncertain times."

"As lovely as that sounds, I must be heading back to Hogwarts," he said, leading her back to the cluster of women from which she had come. "Perhaps young Goyle?"

Releasing her, he took Narcissa's hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Narcissa, my dear, it has been a pleasure."

"But, Severus, are you leaving so soon? The guest of honor has not yet arrived!"

"I shall give Draco all my best wishes back at the school. As I told our Lord, I left in the midst of a bit of a kerfuffle. Once the confusion dies down, I shall be missed. But I am very grateful to have had to opportunity to enjoy your beautiful home and your lovely face. Give my best to Lucius. And take care, my dear."

"And you, Severus. I will not forget--"

"Hush, Narcissa. It is nothing."

He took his leave of the Dark Lord, assuring him that they would soon be meeting under many such celebratory circumstances, and Disapparated.

Once on the Hogwarts grounds, the wind bit at him, and he wrapped his cloak around him more tightly. The robes, though heavy, were no match for a March gale. He moved stealthily through the castle, not wishing to be questioned about his attire, but feeling that he must inform the Headmaster immediately that Draco seemed nearer to completing his plan, whatever it might be. He entered the spiral stairway into Dumbledore's office, grateful that he had seen no students on the way. He was about to raise his hand to knock when the hairs rose on the back of his neck.

Someone was there with him. He took a deep breath, but his senses were numbed by the assault of so many heavy perfumes. Still, though, he thought he felt...

"Miss Granger?" Had she come for him after all?

Her voice was choked with tears, but her anger cut through sharply. "Why? Why have I been able to see the ring all day?"